


Inclement Development

by Yuuri_Katsukmycock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bullying, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Face-Fucking, High School, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Slow Build, Slurs, Smut, Step-Brothers, Taboo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuuri_Katsukmycock/pseuds/Yuuri_Katsukmycock
Summary: Wesley is tired. Tired of the bullying that happens at school. Tired of his mother's abuse.He's just... tired.When his mother gets engaged to a very wealthy man named Nathanial Cain, Wesley barely has time to blink before his world is changed completely. New step-brothers, a new school, and a bunch of rich assholes who love throwing around slurs targeted toward Wesley's sexuality...No, Wesley isn't just tired. He's exhausted. He just wants to go to sleep and never wake up.However, the most unlikely person becomes his source of energy. Wesley starts looking forward to waking up again, thanks to the one person he thought he hated. His main bully. That homophobic prick.His step-brother.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> I have a problem with step-brother stories, okay?! It's an illness, I swear. 
> 
> I have multiple chapters finished for this story, so I will hopefully have them all up soon. I make no promises about an upload schedule, but if people enjoy this story, I may make more time for it. ;)

“Get up, pussy,” sneers one of the major douchebags above me. Laughter sounds from his buddies, who are crowded around me on all sides.

I reach behind me and grip the brick wall as leverage to raise myself back upright. My palm smarts from the rough brick, but I ignore the ache.

“Aw, look at the little fag. He got up.” More laughter.

I don’t even feel a sting at the insult anymore. I stopped caring years ago. My ribs send spikes of pain throughout my entire body when I inhale, though.

_Fuck. I hope they didn’t break anything._

I wipe up some of the blood gushing from my nose with my hand. I silently hope my nose isn’t broken either.

Directly in front of me is Jared, resident douchebag and leader of the group of assholes currently beating the shit out of me. Jared and his cronies aren’t even from my school. They’re from the private academy across the street, but they always hang out at the one public school in town during lunch. I hate all of them with a passion. For some reason, this particular group always finds some reason to kick my ass. I’m not even sure when it started, or why, but Jared has a personal vendetta against me.

Secretly, I think it’s because he’s attracted to me and has a major case of denial.

Not so secretly, I mutter, “Takes a fag to know one.”

Jared doesn’t like that. Neither do any of his friends.

He lunges forward and grabs the front of my blood-soaked shirt, slamming me back against the brick wall and putting his face far too close to mine for comfort. “You think you’re so funny, little bitch? How much will you be laughing when I knock out all your teeth?”

I bring my hands up and try to wrestle his hands away. My heart pounds and my fingers are shaking so badly I can’t manage to get a good enough grip to pry him away from me.

Not that I’d actually be able to muscle Jared off of me. It’s embarrassing just how much bigger he is than me. He’s only a few months older than I am, but he probably weighs twice what I do and his biceps are almost the same size as my thighs. He’s so much taller than me it’s laughable. The same goes for his friends.

“I’m sorry. S-sorry, Jared,” I choke out, still grabbing at his hands.

He snarls and shakes me back and forth. My head slams against the wall behind me and I see stars. I barely notice when he lifts me up and presses me harder against the wall, so high my shoes leave the ground.

“You should learn your place. You’re scum.” He shakes me a little and a whimper slips out of my mouth. He pauses. “Why do I even waste my time with you?”

I vaguely hear Michael, one of his friends, say something to him, before his hands abruptly leave my shirt and my body crumples to the ground. My knees jar from the impact and I scrape my palms up in an attempt to not land on my face.

My eyes are filled with tears at this point, but I glance upward just to see a polished leather shoe flying toward my face. It clocks me in my cheek and my head cracks against the wall behind me. I black out momentarily, but awareness flashes back when another impact caves in my stomach.

My eyes go wide and I let out a silent scream, hands scrambling to hold my stomach as the breath leaves my body and my vision turns grey.

A choked sob bursts out of my chest as I struggle to breath and all the fight leaves my body. I curl up as tightly as I can and feel hot tears stream down my face, across my nose and cheek and near my ear.

My eyes must have been closed, because when a hand roughly grips my jaw and yanks my head up, I have to blink several times before my vision is clear enough to see. 

Jared is squatting before me, his pressed slacks and designer button down shirt appearing much too clean for the occasion. I wheeze out something—probably an attempted apology or a plea—but Jared’s fingers are too harsh, too cruel on my sore jaw.

“Look at how pathetic you are. Fucking garbage.” He lets go of my jaw a stands in one smooth movement. I curl up again and let my head rest on the filthy cement. I can feel blood dripping down the side of my face from my nose and know a small puddle is likely under my head as well.

Jared scoffs when I don’t move and backs up. “Come on. We’re gonna be late for fourth period.”

I close my eyes as their footsteps recede and curl up tightly on the cement, the brick wall at my back. After listening for several minutes to make sure they haven’t returned, I turn my face into the cement and cry.

***************************

I’m emotionally exhausted for the rest of the day. My classes are a blur and by the time I’m on the bus, I can barely keep my eyes open. I never got to eat lunch earlier— _thanks, Jared_ —but it’s probably better that way, because when I trudge up the cheap wooden steps to my house and open the door, the clothes and empty bottles scattered all over the floor in the living room make it apparent to me that there won’t be any food in the kitchen for me tonight.

My mom hasn’t really been home for the last couple of weeks, but it appears that she’s back. Whenever she has _guests_ over—and I’m using the term guests lightly—they always eat all the food in the house. I’ve been living on stale bread and peanut butter for close to a week now.

It doesn’t matter, though. I would rather eat peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of my life than have to ask my mom to go grocery shopping. She’d probably just yell at me if I tried.

I’m too tired.

I don’t even bother to look in the fridge and head straight for my room. It’s dark inside when I shove open the door—the light burnt out weeks ago—but the sight of my bed makes me almost tear up. I drop my backpack to the floor alongside the paper bag housing my uneaten sandwich from lunch and peel off my shirt and pants.

Crawling into bed is difficult and painful, but once I’m under the ratty dinosaur comforter I’ve had since I was a toddler, I fall asleep almost immediately.

***************************

I wake up several hours later to the sharp sounds of moaning and wood creaking. My limbs feel heavy and I’m so upset I was woken up that my face crumples and I have to breathe slowly for several minutes so I won’t start crying again. I try to roll over to face the wall in an attempt to get away from the noise, but my ribs protest the movement. I resort to shoving a pillow over my face and inhaling the residual scent of fabric softener until the noise fades away and my eyes grow heavy again.

***************************

In the morning, I gingerly roll myself out of bed after the alarm on my phone goes off and stumble into the bathroom. I shut the door and hope my mom isn’t awake yet, because the door doesn’t lock anymore, and I could honestly go without seeing her before school today.

The exhaustion from yesterday hasn’t worn off and instead I feel faintly nauseous as I turn on the shower to its hottest setting—barely lukewarm—and peel off my boxers. I quickly glance in the mirror at my chest and abdomen, but the bright purple and red bruises only bring up a thickness in my throat.

I shower quickly—as quickly as I can manage, anyway—and set about bandaging up my hands afterward. I didn’t even think to do this yesterday, but my palms are swollen and bloody from being scraped. I would tape my ribs, too, but we don’t have any medical tape left.

I wrap a ragged towel around my hips—my hipbones are bruised too—and trudge back into my room. In the daylight, my room seems much bleaker. I only have one dresser and a twin-sized bed in there. Everything else has either been sold or stolen.

Pulling on a t-shirt proves to me the single most painful thing I’ve ever done in my life, and afterward I have to sit on the edge of my bed for a minute and breathe.

Just the thought of going to school today turns my stomach and makes my hands tremble, but I can’t just stay home.

Staying home would be worse. Much worse.

Mom’s guest never left last night.

*************************

School is relatively uneventful. A few times I was shoved, or some sort of slur was thrown my way, but no one beat me up and no one dumped their lunch on me.

I’m counting this day as a success.

It’s only when get off the bus and walk past trailer after trailer that I know my “successful” day isn’t gonna last. At the very end of the park is where my house—my mom’s trailer—is. In front of it, though, is parked a very shiny, very new BMW.

My throat clicks when I swallow, but I slump up the rotting steps nonetheless and cautiously step inside.

Nothing appears out of place at first glance, but then I start to notice that the floor has been vacuumed. There aren’t any empty wine bottles or cigarette filters in sight in the living room. The couch looks fluffier. The shitty box TV doesn’t have an inch of dust on the top of it.

_Am I in the wrong house?_

I call out, “Mom…?”

A moment later, I hear her voice. “We’re back here, sweetie!” she calls back, followed by a heavy thud.

I don’t know what to think. _We?_

Walking down the narrow hallway and toward her room, I ask, “What’s going on? Whose car is outside—?”

I cut myself off and stop dead in her doorway. Inside, a tall man with extremely dark hair is taping up brown cardboard boxes. Three boxes are piled on my mom’s bed and two more are stacked near the stranger’s feet. My mom stands to the side, holding up a blue dress that I know has been shoved in the back of her closet for years.

My eyes are glued to that dress when she squints at it and says to the stranger, “Do you see what I have to work with? Ugly old things like this—yuck! I think I’ll just leave this one here.” She shoves the dress back into her dresser and then straightens, catching sight of me.

“Wes! I’m so glad you’re back, honey.” She rushes over and beams back at the man. “This is Nathaniel. We’re getting married!”

I’m not sure what expression I’m making, but she obviously isn’t pleased, because she leans in and narrows her eyes.

“Wesley, you do remember the man I told you about, right? The one from that dating website?”

I blink at her for a minute and then nod mutely. I remember all right. She signed up for a sugar-baby website months ago to try to lure some hopeless fool into taking pity on her and giving her money. I wasn’t aware she was still using the website.

Apparently, she was.

Apparently, it worked.

“Well, Nathaniel and I have been communicating rather thoroughly for several months now. Last night he proposed and I said yes!” she squeals happily and holds up her hand, shoving an enormous diamond in my face.

I shake my head a little and glance back and forth from her to the stranger—Nathaniel.

“I… don’t… What?” I finally ask, confused.

My mom softens her smile and places her hands on my shoulders. I try not to flinch away as pain dully thrums throughout my chest. “I know it’s a lot to digest right now, but trust me. Nathanial and I love each other very much and this is going to be great for us, honey.”

Nathaniel stops fiddling with the boxes and approaches me with his hand outstretched. “It’s very nice to meet you, Wesley. Your mother has told me a lot about you.”

I stare at his outstretched palm and glance down at my own bandaged hands. I make eye contact with my mom, my legs inching backward slightly.

“But… you don’t even know him,” I mumble, still in shock. My mind isn’t processing any of this. “You don’t even…” My eyes snap over to her dresser, where her blue dress is still partially hanging out one of the drawers. “And that’s the dress dad gave you. You love that dress…”

My mom’s mouth tightens and she drops her hands from my shoulders. “Wes, your father passed away years ago. It’s time I moved on. It’s time _we_ moved on.”

“I know this is hard right now, Wesley, but your mother and I really do love each other. I have asked her to come live with me.” Nathaniel keeps talking, but I am still staring at that dress, half hidden in a shitty dresser in a shitty trailer.

I feel like I’m that dress. Me and that dress, the both of us about to be thrown away.

My breath quickens and I feel my lower jaw tremble and tighten. My eyes blur with tears. I don’t care to hear anything more from anyone else as I turn and retreat to my room.

I think my mom calls after me, but I just sit on my bed and hide my face in my hands. My chest hurts every time I inhale, but my breathing just won’t even out. I think I’m dying.

_She’s throwing me away. Just like that dress. Just like dad._

A weight next to me on the bed is my only warning before a heavy arm is wrapped around my back. My shoulder blades ache but I’m too focused on breathing to give pain any thought right now.

“Wes? Honey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Just breathe.” My mom coos at me.

When my breathing has calmed down and I’m more focused on the hand rubbing up and down my spine, my mom speaks again. “It’ll be a big change for both of us. I know that. But this really is going to be a good change.” She sounds a little emotional and I straighten slightly and look at her. She offers me a wet smile. “We won’t have to live in a trailer park anymore. I won’t have to work such long hours. It’ll be nice, honey, for both of us.”

I don’t know who she’s trying to fool more—herself, Nathaniel, or me.

My bottom lip trembles and I ask, “But what about me? You can’t seriously think that—that man is going to want me moving into his house too, Mom!” I stand up and stare at her through tears I can’t control. “Am I just supposed to stay here?! I can’t—”

My mom stands abruptly and shakes her head. “No, no, no. Sweetheart, no. You’ve misunderstood. Nathaniel does want you to move in with me. He wants both of us. Wes, he—”

“Whatever he’s said is probably bullshit, Mom! No one wants a teenage stepson!”

“Wesley! Just listen to me for a minute,” she starts.

I interrupt her, completely consumed by panic at this point. “You can’t do this! You can’t just trust someone you met online. He could be a serial killer—or—or a—”

“Wesley, shut your mouth and listen to me, dammit!”

I go quiet.

“Nathaniel is a good man. He wants to marry me. He asked me to marry him knowing full well that you come along with me. He wants _both_ of us to move in with him. Both of us.”

I stay quiet.

She stares at me and waits. I still say nothing.

After a moment, a throat is cleared near my bedroom door. We look over.

“Wesley, I do want both you and your mother to come live with me. Very much. I’m sorry if I made it sound like you were not welcome earlier. I would not have asked your mother to marry me if I did not want to assume responsibility for you as well.”

My mom smiles at him with stars in her eyes. I wonder how many of those stars are fake.

Nathaniel shifts awkwardly and continues, “If it helps at all, I have three boys of my own. They’re all around your age, actually, so I know how to handle teenagers.” He pauses and offers me a small smile. “I really would like for you to come live with us, Wes. It might take time, but we’ll be a big family—the six of us.”

I study him and try to find any hint of manipulation in his gaze. When I find none, I only feel resignation and pity. This man isn’t trying to push me out of the picture. He truly has fallen for my mom.

If only he knew that she was lying to his face—and to his wallet.

Minutes later, my mom follows Nathaniel out of my room. He’s saying something about calling one of his sons to bring a truck over so we can load up our stuff. Before my mom leaves my room, though, she turns and meets my eyes.

My stomach clenches and the breath stills in my chest. I freeze.

She glares at me like she only ever does when she gets drunk. The last time she looked at me like that—a month ago—she beat me with a belt until I couldn’t move.

I missed school for three days because of that.

She’s not drunk now, though. She’s not high. I know she’s not, because a) we have no money and b) Nathaniel’s here.

She likes to be sober when she manipulates people.

I don’t want to know what that look means, but I think about it for the rest of the day.

*******************


	2. Lie to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!!! Please remember that this work is largely unedited, but enjoy nonetheless!

I’m bringing the ratty dinosaur comforter with me. It’s one of the only things I have left of my dad. A shitty comforter that doesn’t even keep out the cold and a sweatshirt from his college days with a hole in the pocket—my mom sold pretty much everything else after he left.

She doesn’t know I have his sweatshirt. I managed to grab it from the garbage after she threw it out.

I shove handfuls of t-shirts and well-worn jeans into a cardboard box. I already stuffed the sweatshirt into my backpack along with the few books I have.

“He wasn’t the only man here last night, was he?” I try to keep my voice low and even, but a small tremor is still detectable near the end.

From where she stands by my dresser, my mom goes still. “What do you mean?” She doesn’t turn around, but I know to tread carefully.

I keep my eyes on her as I shove another pile of clothes into the box. “He drives a nice car. It wasn’t out front when I left this morning, but someone was definitely here.”

She slowly turns around and stares at me without expression. “What are you implying, Wesley? That I cheated on my fiancée only hours after he proposed at dinner last night?”

I shrug.

Her lips twitch. “Don’t be silly. I would never do something like that. You know better.”

My eyes narrow. _Do I, though, Mom?_

We’re silent for a minute. “You know he’s not here, right? He had to go get a truck so we can move our shit over to his house.”

Apparently, Nathaniel’s kids weren’t pleased about this situation either. All of his sons refused to drive over here to help.

I thought it was kind of funny at the time. My mom was annoyed.

As if just remembering that fact, her thinly veiled façade shatters. “I know. He said he’d be back in an hour or two. He doesn’t live close by.” She turns back around to my dresser.

I swallow and ask, “You… How long are you going to keep lying to him, Mom? He seems like a nice guy…”

She is in my face within seconds. “Do not look down on me! You have no idea what I’ve been through! And you don’t have a clue about our relationship!” She shoves a finger in my face.

I back up and bring my hands up in front of my face. “I didn’t mean—”

“Liar!” Her palm connects with my cheek and my teeth ache from force of the hit.

My hand comes up to cradle my throbbing cheek. I back up against the wall and hunch over as her hands continue to fly at me.

“You. Always. Think. You’re. Better. Than. Me.” Each word is pronounced by another hit.

I slide down the wall and huddle on the ground, pressing my face into my knees. “I’m sorry—stop it!”

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up, you worthless child! You’re just like your father—judging me and thinking you’re so much better. Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” She is screaming now, her hands wildly connecting with the back of my head and my shoulders.

I try to keep still and wait out the tantrum. My eyes have filled with tears by now, but I tell myself that she’s not hitting that hard. It could be worse.

I’d prefer her being completely irrational over her being calculating and cruel. Irrationality is the better option.

I think she tires herself out, because she leaves my room shortly thereafter. I stay huddled on the ground for several minutes and try to calm my breathing.

I eventually sneak into the nearly emptied bathroom and close the door. I wash the tears off my face and gather my stuff from the shower and above the sink. My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat and is a little red, but compared to the rest of the bruises and small cuts on my face, nothing appears out of place. The back of my head and the sides of my shoulders hurt, but again no damage is visible.

Heading back to my room with my toiletries in hand, I dump everything into another box and then flop back onto my stripped mattress.

I stare at the ceiling and try to commit the water stains and small mildew spots to memory. I would like to say I have some attachment to the only home I’ve ever known, but I honestly can’t wait to get out of here.

Moving in with one of my mom’s victims, though, isn’t really what I had in mind.

Roughly an hour later, I hear a car pull up outside and a door slam shut.

I get up and pad out into the living room. Nathaniel’s back.

When he walks through the door and smiles at me, I don’t have the energy to warn him about my mom’s mood. I just watch as he heads to her room with more boxes in hand.

He’ll learn sooner or later.

***********************************

Instead of the shiny BMW, Nathaniel brought a huge truck with him. It’s insanely tall and difficult to climb up in, but I manage after a small struggle. I stare out the backseat window at the truck bed, where a mountain of boxes sits. It only took us about an hour to load up the few important things from the kitchen and living room into boxes and to put everything in the truck.

I hug my backpack tightly as Nathaniel maneuvers us out of the trailer park and know with certainty that I’ll be back. This will end up being temporary. I know it.

*******************************

By the time we get to wherever the hell we’re going, it’s dark outside and my head hurts from the scent of my mom’s floral perfume and her fake giggles as she and Nathaniel— _kill me_ —discuss their future. We’ve been in the car for about an hour and a half, but I was ready to throw myself onto the freeway five minutes in.

I can’t see much out my window, but I frown when the truck slows to a stop in front of a massive swinging gate. Nathaniel rolls down his window and enters something into a keypad, and then the gates are opening and we’re moving again.

Dread fills my stomach. The only people who ever live in gated communities are affiliated with organized crime groups or are celebrities. I’m hoping for the latter, but with my luck, I’ll get the former.

Shit. Nathaniel really could be a serial killer.

_What the hell did you get us into, Mom?_

The truck stops at the end of a long driveway lined with trees. I gape at the building in front of me.

Nathaniel, it seems, is rich. I’ve never seen a house this big in my life. It looks like one of those Victorian manors shown in history textbooks or something. It’s huge and white and could probably house a small militia.

I’m still staring at the house like an idiot when I hop down from the truck; the only reason I look away is because I’m actually an idiot and forgot I have injured ribs in the midst of my wonderment.

I’m gingerly pressing my hands against my side when Nathaniel rounds the truck bed and calls out to me. “Wes! Come grab a box! I’ll get the boys to bring in the rest, but we might as well lighten their load.”

I grab the first box I can reach—luckily, it’s mine—and trudge after Nathaniel up the stone steps leading to the front door.

If I thought the outside of the house was incredible, the inside is the real kicker. I’m no architect, but I’m pretty sure molded ceilings aren’t commonplace these days. Nathaniel has a fucking marble statue in his foyer, right smack dab between two winding staircases that lead up to the second and third floors.

I’m still gaping at the high ceilings and the solid stone floors when a sharp ring pierces my bubble of thought.

Nathaniel hastily sets down the two boxes he brought inside—I didn’t even try to take more than one—and pulls out his phone.

“This is Cain,” he answers, wandering off into some room to the side. I watch him go and realize that I hadn’t heard his last name until just now.

_Nathaniel Cain. Huh…_

My mom walks in behind me, but carries her purse— _Did she not even grab a box?_ —to one of the grand staircases and waltzes upstairs before I can even ask her what I should do.

She has obviously been here before. I wonder idly if this is where she’s been running off to lately.

I wait around for Nathaniel to get back for several minutes, but eventually my arms get tired and my ribs start to ache. I end up setting my box down in the foyer and take a seat on one of the fluffy couches crowding a sitting area off to the side.

I feel awkward just being left alone in a stranger’s house, but I don’t know what else to do, so I just wait.

***********************************

My eyelids are drooping and I’m fighting off a yawn when Nathaniel reappears.

“Sorry about that! Just a small issue at work.” He smiles at me a little awkwardly and I stand. He looks around the foyer and frowns for a second. “Did your mom not show you where your room was?”

I shrug. “She went upstairs.”

“Huh.” The frown doesn’t leave his face. “Well, I can show you real quick. Come on.” He picks up his discarded boxes, waits for me to do the same, and then leads me up the stairs.

I remain silent as he talks about some interior designer or something as we wind down hallway after hallway. I have no idea what is going on, but I’m starting to feel nauseous again.

_Where’s Mom?_

“Your room is in the west wing. All the boys’ rooms are on the west side of the house, so you all have some privacy.” He turns to wink at me over his shoulder. “You know, some room to breathe away from us stuffy adults.” He laughs to himself.

I try to relax. I know he’s trying to make me feel comfortable. It’s just not working very well.

At the end of another hallway, on the right side, Nathaniel balances his boxes on one hand and uses the other to push open a door. I follow him inside and blink in surprise.

Inside is a completely furnished bedroom. It’s bigger than my mom’s trailer. It’s the size of a goddamn apartment.

Nathaniel grins when I stare in shock at my surroundings. “This’ll be your room. You share a bathroom with my son Ronan. He can be quite a slob, so you have my permission to whip him into shape if needed.” He winks. “Go ahead and unload your stuff. These two boxes are yours, I believe. We’ll have dinner in an hour, so just come downstairs then. I’ll have one of the boys bring up the rest of your boxes.” He smiles and turns to leave.

I blurt out, “I only had these three.”

He whips around and arches a brow. “Hm?”

“I—the boxes. I only had three boxes, I mean.”

“Oh! Well, then go ahead and get settled. Someone will intercom you when dinner’s ready.”

_Intercom?_

And with that, he leaves.

Out in the hallway, I hear him banging on a few doors and yelling for multiple someones to go help outside. I don’t hear any replies, but distantly I do think I hear a couple doors clicking open and closed.

I swallow and walk over to the huge mattress in the middle of the room. It looks so comfortable I’m tempted to go to sleep now.

After orienting myself with the bathroom and deciding against unpacking—I’ll just have to repack again eventually—I carefully crawl into the center of the bed and allow all of the tension to seep out of my body.

I fall asleep almost immediately.

***************************************

“Hey. Kid. Wake up.”

I shift and roll over to get away from noise.

“Fucking hell—wake the fuck up!” A large hand lands on my shoulder and shakes violently.

My eyes snap open and I immediately crawl away from the hand. An embarrassingly loud whimper leaves my lips as I do and I have to hug my arms around my midsection for several moments and breathe while the pain subsides.

Blurry from sleep and glazed with tears from the pain, my eyes take a minute to focus enough to attach the hand to its owner.

Standing by the side of my bed is a very big man. My eyes widen and I inch farther back on the bed.

“What—?” My voice is hoarse.

The man—teenager?—glares at me and scoffs. He has very dark hair, like Nathaniel, and seems to loom over the bed with his height. His skin is lightly tanned and he’s wearing a baggy t-shirt and jeans, neither of which downplay the corded muscle on his forearms and neck.

_Is this dude gonna kill me?_

“You need to get up,” he grunts, disinterest and annoyance clear in his tone. The deep baritone of his voice sends shivers down my spine and I curl my knees up to my chest.

“I—what? Who the hell are you?” My voice breaks on the last word and I flush slightly. Any chance I had at intimidating this guy has committed _seppuku_ apparently.

Dark waves of hair spill over his forehead and partially obscure his eyes. I can’t quite make out their color, but I can definitely tell he’s rolling them at me. “Just get the hell up. Your mom won’t stop bitching downstairs and I’m tired of her voice. It really grates on my nerves, kid.”

My eyes widen and I immediately sit up. “What the hell did you just say?”

He rolls his eyes again and pivots toward the door, reaching it in only a few paces. “Hurry up.”

Outrage sparks quickly in my head and I slide across the bed after him. “Get back here! What the fuck did you just say about my mom?”

At the door, he stops and slowly swivels his head around to glare at me. “I said she’s bitching. Are you deaf? Now get downstairs.”

With that, he disappears out the door.

“You fucking prick!” I slide off the bed and stomp to the door, but when I look out into the hallway, he’s gone.

I angrily sort out my hair in the bathroom and try to breathe evenly. I don’t think I’ve been this angry in a while.

My feet make sharp sounds as I stomp down the stairs a few minutes later. Anger still lowly simmering in my head and chest, I follow the sound of voices into the kitchen. There, a woman in a white chef’s coat is working dutifully over a stove. She doesn’t notice me, so I walk past her and look around.

Just like every other room in this house, the kitchen is huge and expensive.

I kind of hate it immediately.

The kitchen and dining room are connected in one huge room, and at the end of a massive table sits my mom. Nathaniel is at her elbow, leaning over to talk to her in an intimate way. Next to Nathaniel is a sulking teenager with black hair and on the other side of him is another dark-haired man wearing a dress shirt.

They look funny sitting at one end of a dining table that could easily fit twenty people.

The asshole from earlier is nowhere in sight.

I walk up to the table and stop by my mom’s elbow. “Mom.”

She glances over at my, disinterest clear in her eyes before she pastes on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen and stands. Her arms wrap around me and I wince as my ribs throb.

“Wes! Are you feeling better, sweetie? We’re just about to eat—sit, sit.” She practically shoves me into the chair next to her and across from the dude in the dress shirt. Neither he nor the teenager even glance up at my arrival, both of them occupied with their phones.

I stare down at the table and sink into the chair. _And to think I could still be sleeping right now._

“Did you get settled in your room, Wesley?” Nathaniel’s voice makes me glance up.

I nod. “It’s fine.”

He nods and then goes back to talking to my mom.

I sit in silence again until my mom speaks.

“Where did Ronan get off to? Dinner is ready,” she almost whines to Nathaniel.

He chuckles, but at the sound of her voice, I wince. As I do, I make eye contact with the teenager across from my mom. He looks absolutely disgusted and my lip twitches. His eyes narrow, but footsteps from the corridor leading from the kitchen attract my attention.

And what do you know? In walks Captain Shit-Stain himself. The prick from earlier.

My jaw clenches and I half-rise out of my seat before I can think it through.

“Ronan! I told you we were ready to eat,” Nathaniel scolds.

The prick—Ronan—rolls his eyes again and walks over to the table. Apparently it’s possible to walk with a bad attitude, because this dude has the technique down pat.

Asshole.

“Whatever,” he mutters, dropping down into the chair next to dress shirt guy.

I glare at him until his eyes flick up to mine. He holds my stare for a moment before a crooked smirk pulls at the corner of his full lips.

I hate him.

The chef brings over huge plates piled with food and sets them down in front of us, but I barely notice because I’m still glaring across the table.

When my stomach growls, though, I look down and start to eat. The food is really good. It could be because I haven’t eaten all day, but the huge pile of pasta on my plate disappears in record time.

I’m so focused on shoveling food into my mouth that I don’t even notice my mom’s voice getting louder until she practically screeches my name.

My head snaps up. “What?”

Her lips form a flat line. “I’m trying to introduce you to your new brothers, _honey_.”

I grimace and say, without thinking, “Gross.”

Her eyes sharpen and I sit up straighter. “Wesley.” She inhales deeply and then turns toward Nathaniel. “Why don’t you make the introductions?”

Nathaniel blinks and then clears his throat. “Ah, yes. Sorry we didn’t introduce you earlier, Wesley. This,” he gestures to the still sulking teenager, “is Mason. He’s seventeen, like you, so you two are both juniors. You might have a lot in common—who knows?” He laughs.

_Mason_ and I make eye contact over the table. Judging by his hostile expression, I don’t think we’re gonna be besties anytime soon. Or ever.

“Next to Mason is Drake. He’s a sophomore in college right now, but he still lives here because he’s practicing being a professional moocher.” Nathaniel winks at Drake, who smiles back.

Drake looks at me grimly. “It’s nice to meet you, Wesley. We’ve all… heard a lot about you.”

I swallow and nod at him silently. At least one of Nathaniel’s sons isn’t actively plotting my demise.

“And lastly,” Nathaniel continues, “is Ronan. He just turned eighteen and he graduates in May. You two share a bathroom, so you’ll probably see a lot of each other. I’m sure you have already met, though.”

I snarl and glare daggers across the table. “Yeah. We met.”

The bastard smirks at me, more pronounced this time, and leans back in his chair, crossing his thick arms over his chest and looking smug. “We’re best buds now.”

My eyes do not stray to his biceps for a nanosecond. They _don’t._

Nathaniel glances between us nervously. “Ah—good. That’s good.”

The bastard never says a word to me throughout dinner. In the end, I leave the table first and escape to my new (temporary) room.

If I have to live in the same house as these assholes for as long as my mom keeps up her charade, I’ll actually go insane. Or become homicidal.

Or both.

*****************************

It only occurs to me the next morning—Friday—that I now live over an hour away from my school. I rush out of my room and downstairs in a panic, my eyes bleary as I tear through the house looking for my mom.

I find her in some sort of sitting room with—of course—Nathaniel. She’s wearing a housecoat and is holding a mug on a couch while Nathaniel flips through a newspaper.

“Mom!” I startle her enough for her head to jerk up quickly. She almost spills her tea.

I can’t be bothered to care.

“Jesus, Wesley! What?”

“Mom, how am I supposed to get to school? My classes just started a month ago—I can’t skip any days or I’ll fall behind!”

She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “God, you obnoxious child. You’re transferring schools. You start on Monday.”

I stare at her in outrage. “But—I can’t just do that! I’m in the middle of a science project and I have important things going on at school right now!”

She sits up and sets her mug on the coffee table in front of her. “Wesley, you _are_ transferring schools. I’ve already handled the paperwork. You’ll be attending the same private academy as Nathan’s boys.”

I freeze. _An academy like the one Jared attends? No, thanks_. “Mom, you know we can’t afford for me to go to a private school.”

Nathaniel— _Nathan_ —speaks up. “I have everything taken care of on that front.” He stands up and offers me a somewhat sleepy smile. He must have woken up recently. Walking to the doorway and patting me on the shoulder, he says in passing, “Don’t worry, Wesley. You’ll like your new school. It’ll be fun.”

When he’s gone I whip back around to my mother. “You can’t just rip me away from all of my connections, Mom.”

She snorts and stands, her thin body tensing as she casually stretches. Does she not realize my entire life is falling apart over here? “Don’t be ridiculous, Wesley.” She stares at me and her sweet, doting fiancée act falls flat. “You and I both know you have no friends.” She pads over to where I stand. “None of your teachers particularly care about you. If we’re being honest here, no one will notice that you’re gone.”

Wow. That hurts more than I thought it would. My chest tightens and nausea makes my head swim and my stomach clench. I swallow and my throat clicks. “I—but, Mom…”

“What?” she sneers. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not happy about switching schools? None of your old classmates like you. No one likes you, so why would _they_? Think of this as a new start.” She pauses and narrows her eyes at me. “But don’t you think for one minute I’m not aware of what you’re doing.”

I stumble backward when she puts a finger in my face and crowds in on me.

“You just can’t stand to see me happy, can you?” Her nostrils flare unattractively and she hisses, “Well, tough shit, kid. You are going to that private academy that Nathaniel is paying for and you are going to stop making me look bad.”

I swallow and press my back against the door frame. “That—that’s not true. I do want you to be happy…”

She shakes her head. “You’re a lying bastard. Always have been, always will be. You will not manipulate me in my own house, Wesley.” She straightens and smooths out her housecoat.

_Who’s manipulating who, Mom? And what do you mean YOUR house?_

I don’t say anything. I can barely manage the stinging behind my eyes or the way my clenched jaw makes my teeth grind together.

Am I angry or sad? I honestly don’t know.

She sighs. “Your uniform is in the closet in your room. It has already been pressed.” She walks past me but stops right outside the doorway. “Oh—and, Wesley?” Her eyes drill into mine. “Don’t ruin the uniform. I wouldn’t want to have to punish you so soon after our move.”

After she’s gone, I lean on the doorframe for a long time. It probably only lasts minutes, but my legs can barely hold me up when I finally peel myself away from the sitting room.

On my way back to my room, I stop dead in my tracks as I catch sight of Mason—the moody teenager—sitting on a sofa right outside the hallway leading to the sitting room. He’s wearing black ripped jeans and a black hoody and his hair falls into his eyes as he lifts his head. He makes direct eye contact with me, but I whip my head around and scurry away before the disturbed look in his eyes can translate into him saying anything.

I don’t want to know if he overheard my mom’s words. I just really don’t.

**********************************

Several hours later, I finally give in to my stomach’s demands and wander downstairs to find food. The kitchen is empty, but I’m not really sure if I should root through the refrigerator or not.

_Don’t these people have a cook? Wouldn’t she get mad if I went through her kitchen?_

After debating the consequences, I eventually walk over to the refrigerator and throw open the double doors. Our fridge back in the trailer was never really full. Typically cold cuts and mushy vegetables lined the few shelves amongst scattered condiments and sauces. Not much real food.

This fridge, though, is packed to the brim with everything from protein shakes to fresh fruit. The last time I had an apple was last semester when the lunch lady at school had extras.

Mom hasn’t bought fresh produce in months.

I grab an armful of who-knows-what from the fridge and spread my findings out on one of the stone countertops. Then I set about investigating all of the cupboards and drawers.

In the end, I find the makings of a sandwich the likes of which Shaggy and Scooby would covet. My wonderful/terrible creation loaded onto a plate, I sit down at a barstool off the kitchen counter and eat.

When I’m halfway through my sandwich, Nathaniel walks in. He’s dressed sharply in a suit and has a thick pile of paperwork in one hand.

He sees me and chuckles. “I see you’ve found the food. I should have known.”

I flush slightly in embarrassment and open my mouth to utter an apology, but he speaks again before I can.

“Although, I highly doubt anyone eats as much as my boys do.” He walks over to the fridge and opens the door, flashing a grin made up of white teeth at me. “I once watched Drake and Ronan put away four whole pizzas in an hour. It’s not natural.” He fake shudders and I feel a grin tugging at my lip.

“Wouldn’t they get sick afterward?”

He shakes his head as if even he is bewildered. “Sometimes I think they’re a completely different species. They ate all that and then wanted dessert an hour later. It’s incredible.”

A small laugh leaves my mouth before I can catch it and Nathaniel looks satisfied with himself.

“Well, kid, I’m gonna head out. Your mom went shopping about an hour ago, so you have the house to yourself for a few hours.” He grabs a protein shake from the fridge and heads out of the kitchen, calling back to me over his shoulder, “Feel free to explore. The pool’s in the east wing next to the gym. Oh—and the boys have practice today, so they’ll be back at around six.”

I finish my sandwich after he leaves and wonder what on earth a man like Nathaniel sees in my mom.

*******************************

I find the pool after wandering aimlessly for an hour. It’s indoors and heated and absolutely massive.

I’m disappointed I don’t own a swimsuit; otherwise, I would have spent the rest of the day swimming.

I find a huge library, a theatre room, the gym, and tons and tons of bedrooms before I give up on mapping out the house. _Who even needs that many bedrooms anyway?_

With my suspicions that Nathaniel secretly wants to run a bed and breakfast, I go back to hiding in my room for the next few hours.

I’m watching some ridiculous show on the TV in my room—I know, right?—when I hear a door slam downstairs followed by what sounds like a herd of elephants stomping up the stairs. I sit up straight and swing my legs over the side of my bed. Moving around is slowly getting easier, but my ribs are still black and blue and green in places.

I’ll never admit it, but I’m secretly glad for the change of schools. I won’t have to deal with Jared and his needle-dicked cronies anymore.

That being said, I’m about to find out exactly what private schooling is like on Monday. I would bet my left testicle that more assholes just like Jared go to the new school.

Same shit, different shitter.

I’m not really interested in finding out what all the door-slamming and stomping was about, so I go into the bathroom.

I haven’t had any issues with sharing an en suite with shitface—Ronan—yet. In fact, I haven’t seen him since last night.

Maybe he died.

As I’m washing my hands and snickering to myself, I hear a door open and voices flood through the room connected to mine.

My heart pounds and I quickly dry my hands and retreat to my room. I can hear several male voices through the walls and I hover uncertainly in the middle of my room for a minute.

_Does Ronan have company?_

I hear the bathroom door not attached to my room open and my pulse speeds up even more. _Should I lock my door? What if someone tries to come in?_

I’m at war with myself and am having a truly invigorating argument in head when the other door to my room, the one connected to the hallway, swings open. My head snaps over and I blink in astonishment when two dudes just waltz right into my room.

I don’t know either of them. They’re both blond, one with shorter hair and one with curly hair that is tucked behind his ears; they’re both beefy-looking and wearing pressed uniform shirts and have shit-eating grins on their faces. I swallow and inch backward a step when it hits me.

They remind me of Jared.

“New step-bro! How’s it going, my man?” One of the blonds, the one with short hair, steps forward and cranes his neck down at me. “Man, you’re short as hell! Is your mom a midget? Your dad?”

I don’t know what to say. “I… What…?”

“No,” the other blond clicks his tongue, “he’s just younger. Right, buddy? How old are you—wait, let me guess.” He tilts his head and squints. “I’m going with… twelve! Thirteen at most.”

The first blond shakes his head. “Nah, man, he’s at least in high school. You heard what Ronan said—he’s going to our school.”

Blond #2 hums thoughtfully. “Well… Maybe he skipped a few grades?”

“Potentially.”

“Plausibly.”

“Not quite certainly.”

“Almost hesitantly.”

I’ve had enough. “What the—what the fuck are you doing? Get out!”

They smirk at one another and Blond #2 makes cute faces at me. His curly hair bounces around his head like some fucked up version of a halo. “Aw, isn’t he adorable? Trying to act all tough.”

Blond #1 nods in agreement and steps forward, quickly reaching up a hand to ruffle my hair. “There, there, little guy. It’s okay—”

I slap his hand away and step back several steps. “Who the fuck do you think you are?! You can’t just come in here and—and—” I’m so angry my vision is turning red. I clench my fists and try to get articulable words through my lips.

Blond #2’s expression softens. “Aw, Mack, you made him angry. Look at him, his feathers are all ruffled.” He bends over and brings his eyes level with mine, which sadly means he has to bend down almost a foot. “Don’t worry, buddy. I think you’re _very_ intimidating.” He turns back to Blond #1—Mack. “You have to build up his confidence,” he whispers.

Mack nods. “Right. C’mon, little guy. Don’t you want to hang out with the big kids? We’re gonna chill downstairs.”

“I don’t fucking want to do anything with you—you pricks!”

“Ooh! He has quite the mouth on him, doesn’t he, C?” Mack’s eyes twinkle with delight.

I’m either gonna wring his neck or die trying, I swear.

“Shut the fuck up and get out—”

“Mack! Connor! What the hell are you doing?” a dangerous voice interrupts me.

I’m getting really tired of being interrupted.

My eyes snap over to the bathroom door, where Ronan stands with two more guys crowding behind him. Jesus, all of these guys are huge.

I spit, “Get your ugly ass friends out of here now!”

Ronan lazily drifts his eyes over to me. “Watch your mouth.” Then, as if I’m too tedious to acknowledge any further, he addresses to two blond bastards. “You two, get downstairs.”

Connor brushes some blond curls out of his eyes. “But, Mom! We were just inviting your new bro to come chill with us.”

Ronan’s jaw clenches, a muscle jumping dangerously in his cheek. “He is _not_ my fucking brother.” His eyes snap over to me and his lip curls in disgust. “And he is _not_ hanging out with us.”

I try not to curl into myself under his stare. I’ve only ever seen two people stare at me with such blatant disgust before: my mom and Jared. Who the hell was he to make me feel self-conscious, though?

Straightening my spine, I hiss, “Like hell I would want to spend time around you lot. I have better things to do with my time than to fuck around with twatty teenage boys.”

Mack, Connor, and the dudes crowding behind Ronan laugh uproariously.

Ronan, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to eviscerate me with his eyes. “Don’t try to act all tough, bitch.” He spits, quickly stepping up to me and crowding me back. “You’re just a stupid little faggot leeching off my dad while your mom gets her fill.” He pushes my forehead back. “And nothing more.”

I bit my lips and scoot backward another step, my chest rising and falling erratically and my eyes stinging.

The peanut gallery aren’t laughing anymore.

Connor frowns and steps forward. “Ronan, man, that’s being a little harsh, don’t you think? He’s just a kid—”

“He is not a kid!” Ronan roars, his eyes never leaving mine, pure hatred in their depths. “He’s fucking seventeen. And he’s more than old enough to recognize the truth when he hears it.”

The room is silent for a minute, and one of Ronan’s friends might say something, but all I hear is my own accelerated breathing.

When my throat becomes too thick to say anything more and when Ronan’s eyes become too much for me to handle, when I fear he’ll see the layer of tears glazing my eyes, I dart around the blonds and out of my room.

I blindly stumble down the stairs and somehow make it out the front door. I sprint around the side of the house and when breathing becomes too difficult, when my legs shake too much to run any farther, I collapse near a rose bush and hug my knees, heaving sobs bursting from my chest.

*****************************

I sit curled up near the rose bush for a while. Even after my breathing has calmed and my tears have stopped, I’m still shaking and nauseous. My head pounds.

I stay outside until the sun starts to set and my arms and feet get cold.

I stay outside even longer. I’m scared to go back inside. I don’t want to face Ronan again.

I don’t want to face anyone.

Eventually I get so cold I’m shivering and my headache gets so bad I see black around the edges of my vision, so I lift myself off the ground and creep inside.

The house is quiet even when I haltingly walk down the hallway leading toward my room, so I assume either Ronan’s friends left or they’re in another part of the house.

In my room, I pull out my worn out dinosaur comforter, climb into the middle of the huge bed, and try to think about nothing. It works, mostly.

I fall asleep quickly.

**********************************

I dream about my dad.

I don’t remember much about him, except that he loved me and had my brown hair and grey eyes, but for some reason, I dream about the day he left. I was seven.

He and my mom used to fight all the time. When I was younger, it was very rare for them to have a single evening without someone screaming and someone else getting drunk. My dad didn’t like me to see him like that, though, so he would always make sure I was in my room when the fighting started.

He would always tuck my comforter around me and run his fingers through my hair and rub my back until I fell asleep.

Only hours before he left, he’d done the same.

My mom tried to say he cheated on her and tried to hurt her and a whole bunch of other bullshit. I know the truth, though.

That night, when I heard the fighting escalate too quickly and when the insults and accusations being thrown about were too loud and sharp, I crept out of my room. My parents were in the living room of our shitty trailer, yelling at each other and waving their arms about. My dad looked heartbroken.

My mom looked defensive.

In short, my mom had been cheating on my dad for years. He found out. He told her the only reason he’d stayed that long was because of his son—me. He was done with her.

My mom only tried to stop him from leaving when he tried to take me with him. When my dad refused to leave me in a home with her, she called the cops and made up some false abuse story.

The cops believed my mom.

My dad was released from jail a few days after the incident, but by then he’d been too late. My mom had gotten a restraining order and was already filing for divorce and full custody rights over me.

I never saw my dad again after that night. I remember asking my mom over and over again when he’d be home, and the first time she’d slapped me across the face and told me to shut up, I remember crying for hours in my room, under that dinosaur comforter.

The hole my dad left behind has never been filled. I miss him.

I would give anything to see him again. Anything.


	3. My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Wesley, are you up yet?”

I don’t reply to my mom’s grating question.

I’ve been up for hours. I grab my backpack, pick up the uniform tie that I’m not planning on wearing and leave my room. Nausea makes my stomach churn as I stomp downstairs and a wave of vertigo hits me when, at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, I see my mom heading toward me.

I almost turn around to go back upstairs.

Her eyes are wide as she takes in my attire. “What have you done? Do you not even know how to dress yourself?” She tugs on my shirt collar, folding it over, and buttons up my shirt all the way.

I try to push her hands off of me. “Mom, stop.”

“I will not stop, Wesley! You need to look presentable for your first day.” She leans in and hisses into my ear, “You will not embarrass me today. All of Nathaniel’s friends have children who attend this school.”

I roll my eyes and try not to flinch back when she starts tucking my shirt into my pants for me. I step back and protest, “Whoa! I can do it—Jesus!”

She scrutinizes me as I clumsily tuck in my shirt, cheeks hot. I can’t believe she was seriously trying to reach into my pants.

What a fucking psychopath.

“Is he ready, sweetheart?” asks Nathaniel as he joins us in the foyer. Once again, he is dressed in a suit and looks far too classy to wrap an arm around my mom, who is wearing an extremely revealing nightgown and nothing else.

She smiles at him sweetly. “Almost.”

Nathaniel runs his eyes over me and winks. “Nice. You still have time to get breakfast before you leave. Ronan’s gonna drive you and Mason today, but sometimes I’ll drop you guys off on my way to work.”

In the kitchen, Mason and Ronan are at the counter eating massive bowls of cereal. I hover at the edge of the kitchen while Nathaniel and my mom go about getting food for themselves. I feel too nauseous to eat right now.

“Did you hear me, Ronan?” Nathaniel asks as he cracks an egg into a pan.

Ronan doesn’t even look up from his food, but he makes a negative noise and shakes his head.

Nathaniel sighs. “You’re taking Wesley to school with you guys today.”

At that, Ronan does look up. His eyes flicker over to me with a dangerous glint in their depths. I still can’t tell what color they are, but they’re bright with anger. “Hell no! He can drive himself.”

I clench my jaw and slough back against the wall behind me.

“He doesn’t have a car—not that it matters. You are going to drive him, Ronan! Stop being such a pinhead.” Nathaniel looks two seconds away from exploding on his son.

“I refuse to be seen with him, Dad! Come on—he’s a fucking fag—”

“Finish that sentence and you’re not going to Italy over break, Ronan!” Nathaniel roars, a vein pulsing in his neck. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

I shrink back and try to make myself invisible.

Ronan looks outraged, but after staring at Nathaniel for a few seconds, he finally scoffs in disgust and pushes away from the counter. He storms past me out the door, but makes sure to send a homicidal glare in my direction on the way.

Mason sluggishly follows after Ronan a minute later. Both of them leave their dishes on the counter.

I stay quiet while Nathaniel breathes in deeply through his nose and rubs his forehead. My mom rubs his back and whispers to him.

When he seems calm again, I softly speak up. “I—I could just take the bus.”

Nathaniel looks at me and sighs, shaking his head. He offers me an embarrassed grin. “Sorry you had to see that. But no—there is no bus system for this school. Rich assholes, am I right?” He laughs.

I bite my lip, though, and glance through the door Ronan and Mason disappeared through. I don’t really want to ride with them much either.

Seeing my troubled look, Nathaniel walks over and pats me on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’ll take you.” A dark look covers his face. “If they don’t want to be grounded for a solid year, they’ll take you.”

I’m not so sure Nathaniel can control his sons as well as he thinks, though.

**************************

The huge black truck Nathaniel used to move us is apparently Ronan’s. In the circular driveway in front of the house, Nathaniel hisses something to Ronan, who snarls lowly back.

For an eighteen-year-old—an _adult_ —he’s acting like a brat. I snicker to myself but duck my head when Ronan’s head whips around toward me.

“Shut your mouth!”

“Ronan! Enough!” Nathaniel yells, slapping Ronan upside the head.

I bite my lip to hide my victorious grin and turn to the side to evade Ronan’s murderous glare. My eyes accidently connect with Mason’s, who stands off to the side of the truck and is messing with his phone. He has a bored expression on his face and his eyes pierce into mine, his lips downturned.

I blink and try to look away, but I notice a metallic glint on his lower lip. I squint and a small gasp leaves me when I realize what it is.

He has a lip ring.

_Is that even allowed at their school?_

As if he has noticed where my eyes have strayed, those lips spread in a small smirk, a hint of white teeth poking out at one corner. I swallow and stare down at my shoes—new leather ones that are apparently part of the uniform.

Ronan and Nathaniel are still arguing in the background, but my gaze keeps traveling over to where Mason now leans against the truck. My eyes focus on his shoes—identical to my own—and up his legs. His black uniform pants hug his calves and thighs nicely and the crease at the front of his pants is framed intimately by his pockets.

My tongue slowly runs over the bottom of my lip before I become conscious of my actions and look down again.

“Stop bitching at me, old man!”

“You will watch your tone, Ronan! You’re acting like a spoiled, bratty child right now and I’ve just about had enough of it!”

I’m so focused on not staring at Mason’s crotch— _seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?—_ that I don’t even register Ronan and Nathaniel’s argument getting more heated.

My eyes stray back to Mason, this time to his toned forearms and his biceps, which are hugged by his grey uniform shirt. His shirt strains across his chest as he holds up his phone and seems completely oblivious to the world.

How is it possible that both he and Ronan look like they could easily bench press my entire body without breaking a sweat? Ronan is taller and much more muscular than both Mason and Nathaniel, but Mason and Nathaniel have lean yet muscular builds. Drake isn’t as muscular as Ronan, but he’s still more built than both his dad and youngest brother.

_Freaky genes, man. Freaky, mouth-watering genes._

“What-the-fuck-ever!” Mason curses, drawing my attention as he storms away from Nathaniel and around the truck to the driver’s side.

“Don’t walk away from me, Ronan!” Nathaniel starts to go after him but Ronan interrupts him before he can speak again.

“Fine! I’ll take the little bitch to school! Jesus—we’re gonna be late for practice.” He harshly tugs open his door and starts to climb in, but pokes his head above the truck before he sits down. He glares at me and yells, “If you want a ride, get the hell in.” Then he slams his door and starts the engine.

Mason peels his lithe frame off the side of the truck and climbs into the passenger’s seat.

I scurry to follow.

*************************

The atmosphere in the car is tense as Ronan maneuvers us down the long driveway and toward the school—wherever the hell that is. I look out my window and try to ignore the scathing looks Ronan keep shooting me in the rearview mirror. Mason doesn’t seem to notice anything and is still on his phone.

I’m just starting to relax a little bit about ten minutes into the drive when Mason suddenly pulls over to the side of the road. I frown and sit forward in my seat, the seatbelt digging into my collarbone and the side of my neck.

Mason frowns too and looks at Ronan. “What are you doing?”

Ronan’s jaw clenches and then he whips his head around to look at me. “He’s getting out here.”

My jaw drops and I blink at him incomprehensibly. “I—What? No, I’m not!”

He snarls and leans over his seat, growling, “Get the fuck out of my truck! I refuse to be seen with trailer trash during my last year of high school!”

I start to protest again, but Mason groans and rubs his hands over his face. That sound does weird things to my stomach, but I can’t tell if it’s attraction or nausea.

Probably both.

Ronan whips his head back around to face the front and Mason twists around in his seat to look at me. He sighs deeply. “The school is just up that road.” He points straight in front of us. “It’s a five minute walk. We’re early, anyway.”

I shake my head. “Then what’s the fucking point of—”

“Just let him continue to be a brat for right now, man,” Mason mutters tiredly.

Ronan growls under his breath and glares at the steering wheel, but refuses to acknowledge or refute Mason’s statement.

I give Ronan a withering glare. “Why should I have to suffer just because he’s acting like a toddler?”

Mason’s lip twitches, but Ronan whips around and hisses, “I am not acting like a toddler, you insufferable prick!”

“Me?! I’m the insufferable prick? You self-righteous sack of shit—”

“You are acting like a baby, bro,” Mason states plainly.

Ronan stares at him in betrayal. “I am _not_!”

“You’re literally pouting. You threw a full-blown tantrum earlier just because Dad asked you to drive the kid to school—a school, you might recall, we already go to!”

“Don’t you even start with me, Mase.”

“I’m just calling bullshit where I see it.” Mason looks at me again. “I’m sorry for his behavior, Wesley, but it’ll be easier for all of us if you just do what he wants for right now. He’ll get over himself eventually.”

I swallow and stare into Mason’s eyes for a minute. He has dark eyes just like Nathaniel. He also looks exhausted. I can’t maintain eye contact for long before I feel a flush rise up my chest and neck.

_Damn it all._

I clench my jaw and sigh. “Fine.” I grab my backpack and the uniform tie I still haven’t managed to put on and get out of the truck, only leaning back in to ask _Mason_ —not the prick in the driver’s seat—what the name of the school is.

“It’s called River Heights Academy. Big white building on the right. There’s a sign out front—you can’t miss it.”

With that information, I slam the truck door and start off in the direction of the supposed school, my hair whipping around my face as Ronan’s truck soars past me.

_River Heights Academy. ‘Cause that’s not a douchey name or anything…_

************************

River Heights Academy is a massive white building set back on a huge piece of land. Woods and neatly maintained grassy areas and flowers surround the academy on all sides. It took me almost ten minutes just to walk from the main road, past the gates in front of the academy, and up to the front steps.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I’m panting on my way through the academy doors, but I do get some odd looks. Those could be because of anything—the fact that my hair isn’t gelled or that my tie isn’t on or that I have black, purple, and green bruises all over my face. At this point, people can take their pick.

After asking several people where the main office is—as one person informs me, the _Headmaster’s office_ —I finally get checked in.

The Headmaster is named something like Connors or Connolly or Cannoli and immediately gets on my ass about not wearing my tie. I utter some lame excuse and say I’ll put it on after I leave his office, but I really don’t intend on ever wearing that thing.

It’s fugly and unnecessarily complicated.

I’m given my books—brand new ones—and a map of the building. My first class is on the fourth floor, so I set off wandering toward my assigned locker to drop off my stuff and try to figure out how exactly I’m gonna get upstairs.

Luckily, I stumble across a massive, winding staircase while trying to find my locker. I don’t see that many students around, but I chalk that up to me being here almost an hour early even after I had to trek from the main road and get checked in.

_Ronan said something about being late for practice… Do he and Mason play sports?_

By the time I get to the fourth floor, I’m panting again and having to hold my ribs when I inhale. My vision is filled with black dots and I have to lean against a wall until I can see clearly enough to find the room my first class is in. My backpack digs into my shoulders as I stumble dumbly down hallway after hallway looking for the right room number.

I find the bathrooms before I find my classroom. I splash water on my face for a few minutes and try to calm my racing pulse.

Anxiety is rampantly racing through my bloodstream right now. I need to chill out.

Feeling more under control, I set off to once more look for my classroom.

When I eventually do find the right room, I have still seen very few students. I walk into the dark classroom, fumble around on the walls for the light switch, and then, when I get the lights to come on, I take in the huge lecture hall.

Huge, curved rows of desks line the room and go up in levels. I pick the very last level and find a seat closer to the door. Then, realizing I’m still almost half an hour early, I cross my arms over the desk and drop my head down on top of them.

Time to wait.

*********************

My classes aren’t that bad. I still don’t pay attention in them, but I don’t think they’re going to be very difficult. Mason is in two of my classes, but he doesn’t acknowledge me and I don’t acknowledge him.

Everyone pretty much ignores me. Mason seems to be friends with everyone, though.

I’m not really that upset.

I spend all of fourth and fifth period sleeping behind a bush near the cafeteria. Lunch is lonely and I spend all of my time hiding in the bathroom and eating the lunch my tuition apparently pays for. Much like everything else at this school, the lunch isn’t that bad. It’s not especially good, but I don’t mind eating it.

The rest of the day passes quickly and I’m left with a dull migraine when I trudge out of the academy’s front doors.

Now, the dilemma of getting home. I saw Mason earlier, but I haven’t seen Ronan all day. I don’t even have the first clue as for how to find the prick.

After waiting near the entrance for ten minutes and still not seeing any sign of either of them, I resort to wandering around the hallways. They have to be here somewhere.

When I still turn up empty-handed after searching the entire first floor, I find a group of girls standing at their lockers and walk over to them.

“Hey.” They don’t acknowledge me. I clear my throat. Still nothing. “Um, excuse me? Do any of you know a Ronan or Mason Cain?”

That gets their attention.

A blonde girl whips around to face me, rolling her eyes when she takes me in. _Rude._ “Are you, like, stupid? Of course we know the Cain brothers. They’re, like, the leaders of our friend group!”

Another girl nods. “They’re, like, really hot too.”

A brunette leans back against her locker and looks down her nose at me. She’s almost taller than I am, but I’m not bitter or anything. “Ronan and Mason are pretty well-known. Why? You have, like, some sort of queer crush on them or something?”

I grit my teeth. _Not that that’s, LIKE, any of your business, bitch._ “They’re my ride home. Have you seen them?”

I sound like the concerned mother of two lost children. _Have you seen my sons? Have you?!_

The blonde’s eyes go wide. “You’re riding home with the Cains?!”

I nod, my patience wearing thin. “Do you guys know where they’re at or not?”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

_The attitude on these girls, I swear._

When she doesn’t elaborate, I make a _go on_ gesture with my hand.

Her lip curls up in disgust. “They’re probably where they normally are after school: at practice.”

I blink. _There’s that practice reference again._ “Okay… And exactly where would one find them at _practice_?”

Her friends make judgmental faces at me while she practically spits in my face, “On the field. You know, like, the bid green thing behind the school? Are you, like, simple or something?”

I grit my teeth and step back. “For your information—no, I’m not, _like_ , simple. I’m perfectly cognitively developed. Thanks _so much_ for your help.” I give them a plastic smile and then pivot around and walk off in the direction of the school’s rear doors.

_What a group of stuck up bitches._

*********************

I find the field easily enough. It’s surrounded by huge curved stadium seating and is filled with a cacophony of noise—yelling, grunting, and counting. I know instantly that I’m looking at a massive football team in front of the bleachers with a crowd of girls in short skirts standing off to the side and stretching.

 _Cheerleaders_. My old school didn’t really have cheerleaders. We had six volunteer supporters for our football team, which had kept its record of losing every game since 1982. Even the scrimmages.

The River Heights Academy football team has at least 40 players, who are all surrounding one large, grey-haired man in a circle.

“Gentlemen!” the man calls out. “You have practiced long and hard all summer. Your first game is in two weeks. Are you going to prove your worth?”

An affirmative roar echoes from the players surrounding the man. I lean against one of the stadium’s rails and watch, bemused.

“Then let’s get to it!” The man claps his hands and then, as the players spread out, he turns to a player who already has a helmet on. “Cain, you start warm-ups.”

“Yes, Coach,” the player grunts.

I know immediately who is under the helmet. The tone gave it away, if not the wide shoulders. I snicker quietly, still leaning against the railing. _He’s such a fuckwad_.

I have apparently underestimated the distance between me and The Prick. _I should copyright that nickname._

Ronan’s head whips around, his huge body twisting in my direction. I freeze and try to subtly scoot away from the railing.

_No sudden movements. He can smell fear._

Through the helmet’s bars, he bares his teeth and then stomps toward me. I shrink back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses when he’s only a few feet away.

“I’m just… watching my darling brother practice,” I say sweetly.

His head jerks back. “I am not your fucking brother. You don’t even want to know how much the thought disgusts me.”

_Likely not as much as it disgusts me, dicklips._

I tilt my head and squint. “I don’t know… you seem pretty thrilled at the thought of us becoming one big, happy family, _bro_.”

He reaches up and rips the helmet off, his hair flying everywhere and his eyes wild. _They’re… blue. Deep blue…_

My eyes widen as my pulse speeds up.

_It’s just anger. It’s just anger._

My groin doesn’t agree.

I’ve noticed before how handsome he is—how could I not? I’m a teenage boy with mass amounts of hormones pumping throughout my body—but only do I now notice how good he looks in his practice uniform.

It’s just a tight white shirt combined with even tighter pants. I can see the ridges of his shoulder pads and breast plate through his shirt. My mouth waters a bit when I glimpse his abdominal muscles under the white material.

If he even sweats a little, the shirt will be see-through.

_Oh boy, I’m in trouble._

His thickly muscled thighs are sharply defined in his pants and I can’t help but wonder if he even has an ounce of fat on him anywhere.

 _That jawline could be deceptive_ , I think, squinting at his chin. _He probably has a wicked double chin when he stops posturing._

My lips twitch, but my amusement sours when Ronan growls and puts his face right in mine.

“I will seriously beat the shit out of you,” he hisses, his face mere inches away from mine. I can feel his minty breath on my cheeks. “Leave. Now.”

I swallow and subtly step back. My heart races. “In case you don’t remember, I came here with you, dumbass!”

Ronan growls and looks around quickly before glaring at me again. “Shut up! Could you be any louder?”

“What—is big, bad Ronan scared of his friends knowing about his new _brother_?”

I don’t even get to enjoy the look of rage on his face before he grabs my collar in both of his large hands and yanks me closer. My eyes widen and I choke a little as my shirt digs into my neck. His knuckles brush against the skin of my collarbone roughly.

He yanks me up level with his face, so that my feet barely touch the ground, and snarls, “I already told you to shut the fuck up about that—”

“Cain!” a voice cuts him off. “What are you doing, boy?”

Rough, wrinkled hands pry Ronan’s off of me and I stumble when my feet are firmly on the ground once more.

Coughing, I glare at Ronan. “What the hell is your problem?”

He snarls at me and lunges again, but the grey-haired man from earlier—the coach—grabs Ronan’s shoulder and halts him.

“Cain! That is enough!” The coach steps between us and crosses his arms over his chest, facing off to Ronan without a wince. The coach is several inches shorter than Ronan’s tall frame, but the older man doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest.

Ronan seems to catch himself and shame flashes in his eyes. “Sorry, Coach.”

I watch over Coach’s shoulder as Ronan wipes sweat off of his brow and sends a subtle glare my way.

“What is the meaning of this, boys?” Coach asks us both, stepping to the side and looking between us.

I swallow thickly and mumble, “He’s the one who started it.”

Ronan hears and retorts, “ _I_ started it?! You lying piece of shit! This is all your fault!”

“Oh, fuck you, Mr. Self-Important!” I roll my eyes. “I was over here minding my own business and you decided to come manhandle me like a tool!”

“You’re dead!” Ronan lunges forward again and is only stopped by Coach’s arm once more.

“Enough! I said enough, Cain!” Coach huffs and glares between us, settling his gaze on me in the end. “Now, I don’t know who you are, but you will not come onto my field and start drama with my players. Are we clear?”

I scowl. “I wasn’t starting anything! He’s the one who—”

“I don’t give a damn!” Coach exclaims. “Everything was fine and dandy until you showed up here, so take responsibility for your part in this and move on!”

My stomach turns over as shame flushes my neck, but then I see Ronan’s lip twitch over Coach’s shoulder. “You prick!” I stomp around the coach and shove Ronan’s chest, glaring up into his eyes. He stumbles back slightly in surprise. “Don’t sit there and smirk, you pretentious, malignant, psychotic asshole!”

I shove him again, but he doesn’t budge this time, instead wrapping steel grips around my wrists and squeezing. “Touch me again, fag. I dare you.”

Coach yells something. I vaguely notice several other football players wandering over behind Ronan. Mason meets my eyes over Ronan’s shoulder, his dark eyes grim, but my ears are ringing.

 _That word_. My eyes sting and my teeth grind together. “F—Fuck you.” I try to rip my hands out of Ronan’s hold, but he squeezes tighter, refusing to let me go. I wince and tug harder as my bones creak and groan from the pressure.

“You’d like that, huh, Gay Boy?” Ronan sneers and leans in. “Bet you’d love that.” He shoves my wrists away from him in disgust. His upper lip curls. “Like I’d ever fuck a faggot.”

Coach, for all of the authority he seemed to have just moments ago, can do nothing as Ronan whips around and stomps over to rejoin his team. The older man simply mutters under his breath, spares me a small glance, and then races over to regain some semblance of control.

Completely shaken, tears clogging my throat and blurring my vision, I turn around and break into a run, sprinting around the side of the school and through the parking lot in a daze. I vaguely remember the way back to the Cains’ house and so I head there through a mixture of running and walking while out of breath.

And if I sob the entire way, if humiliation burns into my skin and sickens my stomach, no one has to know.

***********

I don’t really remember getting to the Cain’s house. All I remember is stumbling through the tall gates around the property and walking to the front door as the sun sets. Ronan’s truck is parked out front, but I ignore it and numbly trip my way up the front steps and inside the house.

I can hear voices coming from the dining room and assume everyone is having dinner. Sweat trickles down my back and soaks my uniform shirt, but I can’t be bothered to care as I veer toward the staircase and drag my aching body toward my room.

I spend too much time in the shower and then collapse into bed after only managing to pull boxers on. With a pounding head and a lump in my throat threatening more tears, I curl up and fall asleep.

***********

I wake up right as the sun starts to lighten the sky outside the windows. My limbs feel heavy and I roll over onto my back with a heavy sigh, closing my eyes once more. A dull headache pulses in my temples and my stomach is in knots with nausea and anxiety. I swallow around my dry tongue and try to go back to sleep.

Half an hour later, I’m still awake and so I resign to the fact that I’m not getting any more sleep. Struggling out of the warm, comfortable bed is enough to make me choke up, but I have to piss so I get up anyway.

Knowing that Ronan and I share a bathroom doesn’t help me any as I try to quietly relieve myself, but I try to focus on other things as I wash my hands and brush my teeth.

I decided yesterday while I ran back to the Cain’s house from the school that I wasn’t going to school today. I don’t feel like enduring Ronan’s bullshit anymore and I don’t think I have it in me to drag myself from lesson to lesson today.

_Second day in, and you’re already back to your regular routine. Nice._

While I decide whether I should just hide out here today or camp out somewhere else until three o’clock, I wash my face. I’m drying off when the bathroom door opposite mine creaks open.

I set the towel down on the counter and stare at Ronan as he sleepily shuffles into the bathroom.

He’s shirtless, my vision filled with dusky nipples and firm abdominal muscles for miles. Grey sweatpants hang lowly off of his hipbones and a dark trail of hair leads from his bellybutton and disappears under the waistband. He’s yawning and running a hand over his face.

Heat floods my cheeks as I struggle not to stare at him. I cross my hands over my own chest, remembering that I’m only wearing boxers. I try not to focus on that.

He doesn’t notice me until he almost bumps into me at the sink.

He squints grumpily. “Get out. I have to piss.”

My teeth grind together. “Too bad. I was here first.”

“Whatever.” He waves a hand at me and shuffles over to the toilet.

I stare in shock at his muscled back and shriek when a trickling sound reaches my ears. “What the fuck, dude?! You couldn’t wait five seconds?” I whip around to face the sink again, but I can still see him in the mirror. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to remind myself that I’m mad at him, goddammit!

Ronan grunts and flushes the toilet. He elbows me out of the way and leans over the sink to wash his hands.

I can’t move, because I’m obviously an idiot and love to torture myself for no reason.

I watch as he thoroughly washes his hands, running a nail under each other fingernail and scrubbing as avidly as a surgeon would.

He meets my eyes in the mirror, his deep blue still ever-pissed off. “Want to watch some more, or could you leave now?”

I swallow and hiss, stomping back to my room and slamming the door behind me.

I hastily grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the cardboard box I still haven’t unloaded and am just finishing getting dressed when the door to the bathroom swings open behind me. I spin around, meeting Ronan’s grumpy glare and returning it with one of my own. His hair is messy as ever and his torso is still bare.

“What?” I bite out.

“We need to leave early today. Mason has to talk to Coach before practice.” He spins around to leave, but I speak up before he can.

“I’m not going.”

Ronan slowly looks at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, you are. We’re leaving in thirty.”

He goes to leave again. “I’m not going today. I’m serious.”

“And why the fuck not?” he demands, frowning at me.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t have to answer to you, of all people! I’m just not going. Now leave.” I crouch down over the cardboard box and dig through my spare belongings in search of sweatshirt.

When nothing turns up, I remember I shoved my dad’s sweatshirt into my backpack and go over to retrieve the bag from the desk chair. Ronan intercepts my path, though, blocking me with his hands crossed over his chest.

“You don’t get to ditch just because you got your feelings hurt, Gay Boy,” he rumbles.

I shove around him and start searching through my backpack for the sweatshirt, avoiding his eyes. “Leave me alone, asshole. And stop calling me that—it’s immature and makes you look like an idiot.”

After crying for hours last night, I don’t have the energy to care about his insults this morning.

Ronan scoffs behind me and mutters something, but I’m too preoccupied with finding my sweatshirt. When my fingers brush against well-worn, dark blue fabric, I make a victorious sound in my throat and tug the sweatshirt out.

Gripping the sweatshirt to my chest with one hand and zipping my backpack up with the other, I straighten and head toward the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Ronan demands, gripping my elbow and spinning me around to face him.

When I meet his eyes, I’m surprised to see uncertainty flash across his face. I tug my arm out of his grasp and back up. “None of your business, Ronan,” I say tiredly.

He swallows. “I—I’m sorry about calling you gay and shit… I’ll stop.”

I stare at him in surprise. Then my eyes narrow. “So you’re sorry for calling me _gay_ but not for calling me a _faggot_? Nice. Really nice.” I head toward the door once more.

Ronan grabs my arm again. “Look—I’m sorry for that, too. I’m just angry about—about everything okay?! Your mom is totally using my dad and—”

“And what? And that excuses you for calling me one of the worst words in the English fucking dictionary?!”

“No—come on, Wesley.” Ronan runs his free hand down his face, guilt marring his features. “It’s just a word. And it’s not like it’s true or anything.”

I stare at him and a bitter laugh bubbles through my tense lips. “It _is_ true, actually. And so what?” I back out of his grasp and throw my hand out to the side. “It is _none_ of your business. I don’t deserve to be treated like garbage—not by my mom and sure as _hell_ not by you!”

I’m panting in the aftermath of my outburst and my eyes sting, but I stare at him while different emotions flash across his face.

He settles on confusion. “You—your mom? What?”

I scoff and shake my head, muttering, “Forget it.”

My hand closes around the doorknob and I am wrenching the door open when a large hand slams against the door and shoves it closed. I groan and glare at the wood in front of me in lieu of turning around.

“Wait, dammit! Just—wait.” Ronan curses under his breath and crowds in closer to me. I can feel his body heat through my shirt and it makes a delicious, badly timed shiver raced up and down my spine.

_Stop._

“Leave me alone, Ronan,” I whisper, an unbidden plea in my voice. I close my eyes and clutch the sweatshirt tightly in my fist.

He waits for a second, just breathing right behind me, his hot breath brushing against the nape of my neck. I shiver again.

“Okay,” he mumbles after a minute. “Okay.”

After his hand leaves the door and he backs up, I quickly slip from the room and am out the front door before my shoes are even properly tied, not willing to give him another chance to stop me.

***********

I end up spending the entire day in the woods not a mile from the Cain’s house. I find a trail and go wandering off for hours, eventually settling down next to a small stream and pulling a book out of my backpack to read.

I can’t seem to focus, though. The scene from this morning plays over and over in my head, torturing me with Ronan’s sudden change of personality.

If I didn’t know better, I would say he actually has a heart. And maybe even emotions.

_Psh. Yeah, right._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Please leave comments, kudos, etc. if you enjoyed it or just want to curse me out. I'm up for either, at this point.


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